instead. “But here’s the thing,” Kevin adds. “She swears up and down that she’s not LostGirl99. In fact, she was quite incensed by some ‘historical inaccuracies’ on the site.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s telling the truth,” I say, feeling a wave of nausea. “Can’t you track who it was, using IP addresses or something?”
Kevin shakes his head. “The site was created only a few months ago under a false identity and it was only ever logged into from public computers in libraries and Internet cafés in Portland.”
“That sounds like Luther, then.”
“Maybe. But I’m not sure why he covered his tracks as LostGirl but not as IceVirgin. And then LostGirl’s social media accounts were all taken down after Luther died.”
“Oh,” I say, “that is odd.”
This time when I shudder Kevin notices. Or maybe he’s noticed all along. Nothing much gets past him. He offers me a second throw from the other end of the couch and then tells me a story.
“My great-uncle Joe had hypothermia after he survived a shipwreck in World War Two. He said it took him near a year before he felt really warm again.”
I shiver again, picturing a man floating in the sea, but it’s not Kevin’s great-uncle Joe I see; it’s Luther, whose body has not been found. He resurrected himself once before. Who’s to say he won’t do it a second time.
Chapter Thirty-One
For years I imagined what it would be like to watch Rudy graduate from high school. Whenever I pictured him walking to the podium to accept his diploma I would tear up. I was sure I’d never make it through the ceremony without crying. I hadn’t realized that everyone would be crying. When Lila’s thirteen-year-old sister accepts Lila’s diploma for her, there’s not a dry eye in the audience. Instead of throwing up their caps, the graduates toss handfuls of lilac blossom into the air. Then they clasp their arms around each other and sing John Lennon’s “Imagine,” Lila’s favorite song.
Rudy, I notice, is between Dakota Wyatt and Rachel Lazar, and even after the rest of the graduates drift apart I see that Rachel and Rudy stay close together. Tragedy makes for odd bedfellows, Harmon had said when I mentioned that Rachel and Rudy were spending a lot of time together. She isn’t the friend—or girlfriend, if that’s what she is—that I had imagined for Rudy but I’m grateful for the protective stance she’s taken toward him.
Rudy Levine is just as much a victim as Lila Zeller, Rachel had posted on Instagram. We all need to bond together to stop the cycle of abuse.
Rudy lured his own father to the Maiden Stone to get him to confess, Dakota Wyatt had replied.
When he touched the Maiden Stone Luther vanished, someone else had added. At that point the discussion had verged into conjectures that Luther wasn’t really dead.
Perhaps this is the end of the Maiden Stone disappearances, someone called Final_Girl posted. The Maiden Stone has finally gotten her revenge.
If I hadn’t still felt so uneasy about Luther’s missing body I might have found it fitting that Luther, who loved folklore, had become a figure of myth.
Rudy seems ambivalent about entering the realms of Haywood lore. People need to tell stories, he told the therapist in our last session, to make sense of all the crazy in the world. He doesn’t seem to mind the attention of Rachel and all the other drama kids, though. They cling together in a pack as the crowds drift from the outdoor theater into Warden House, where the graduation reception is being held.
I was surprised when Harmon told me that the house was in shape for graduation. “It was Jean’s last effort,” he said. “She supervised a crew to clean and set up the rooms before she left for Florida.” Jean left for her sister’s house in Fort Lauderdale while I was still in the hospital. It had hurt my feelings a bit that she hadn’t waited to say goodbye, but I understood the instinct to flee. And I can see too that she wanted to make this last gesture to the school. While the restoration isn’t complete, the rooms, open to the evening air, are beautiful. The hardwood floors have been refinished to a satin polish that reflects the candlelight. The faded and peeling wallpaper looks oddly elegant, like the worn pelt of an exotic animal. A string quartet plays in the rotunda, the music drifting up the double spiral staircase and out into the clearing, where it mingles with